


Sooner or Later, the Sun Will Rise

by CinnamonrollStark



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Frustration, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Peter Parker, Heartbreak, Loss, Medication, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Sad Peter Parker, Supportive Avengers, Tony Stark Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonrollStark/pseuds/CinnamonrollStark
Summary: After going off his anti-depressants, Peter's mental health plummets- and yet, he finds himself aided by an unexpected long lost friend.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Sooner or Later, the Sun Will Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Jsksksksjakakalak okay so this is just me going off the deep end lol. I went a couple days without my meds and felt like projecting. Enjoy! Dont worry itll continue even after I'm better again lol. I mean, if you like it, that is.

The realization that the bottle is empty always makes Peter's stomach sink. Most times, its unexpected, a late-night reach for a pill before he goes to bed. But he's known now, for about a week that he was going to come up empty. That he'd be left with only a body and a brain and it's natural defenses against the brokenness that fills him.

He never intends to run out. It usually dwindles, fades, until there's only one or two left. By the time Peter reaches his last pill, he's too distracted or busy to get his next refill. Most of the time, he's not so bothered by their absence- the prescription will be picked up at some point, likely in a day or two, and all will go back to normal. It will be as if nothing happened. The regularity in his slip ups has slowly lapsed into carelessness, a blatant disregard for self-care, but right now, Peter has bigger things on his plate.

"Since when do you bring home leftovers?" 

Peter spins his fork around on the ceramic, and the two materials clash, a grating sound slipping out from under the warm metal. Peter winces and clenches his teeth.

"And you always want dessert." 

He shouldn't have turned down desert. That was a dead giveaway.

"I'm fine, May. I think I'm just sick."

Sick. Sick, they can take. Sick, they can deal with.

May's brows furrow, and she sets down her silverware. 

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've taken you to urgent care."

Peter smiles, and the waiter returns, setting down his leftovers in a foam package in front of him. He takes the empty plate and the fork slides across it.

"I don't need to go to the doctor. Everyone's sick at school. It's just like a cold."

May purses her lips. "Whatever you say. I'll get some tea on the way home."

"You don't have to do that."

But he doesn't really try to argue with her. 

Peter settles back in his chair and let's his weight push against the metal, sighing as he rests. 

Why does he do this? Why doesn't he just step up and say something- as easy as asking his aunt to pick up the prescription. That wouldn't be so hard. People all over the world do this everyday. 

Peter twirls the empty plastic bottle in his fingers and contemplates why he's so fucking stupid. It's a nice distraction, to be terribly honest, from the nothingness that lingers beneath. 

Every part of him wishes that he didn't need the pills. He has to take 3, every night. 75 milligrams. The dose has been rising for two months. It's as if every time they go to the doctor, the only solution is to pump him full of new and potent antidepressants. 

Nothing quite works like it should.

The first breakdown happened a month and a half after the school trip. After everything- Tony, Beck- May found him on the bathroom floor, weeping so hard that he was retching into the tub. Cold water, coating his hair, weighing down his clothes. He can still feel the warmth of her hand, grazing his cheek, wiping the water and the tears, an attempt to soothe. He'd slept in her room that night.

Since then, this has been the routine. It shouldn't be, but there isn't much to be done about it than to medicate and to comfort. That has been the resounding thing the last few months- comfort and drugs. The good kind, at least.

But now, staring at the empty barrel of a prescription, weaponized as any gun to target and kill anything wrong with him, Peter is far from the soothing arms of May. She's just down the hall, but he is ten million miles away. 

Peter inhales a sob and lets the empty bottle fall to the floor.

Falling asleep is never easy. When his eyes shut, he is once again somewhere Beyond, a place of sleep and non-existence, a plane of reality beyond our own. Peter knew of that place once, not long ago. It haunts him in its nothingness. It's the darkness, the hollow calm that floods around him, that brings upon the panic once more. He's adjusted to the idea of insomnia for the past few weeks, but tonight is different.

There is some, disappointed satisfaction in letting himself down, because he expected this- to run out of the pills, to lie to May, and to make peace with it. This is his new normal, and Peter never truly expects to make a full recovery from the loss of Tony. That satisfaction floods him with uneasy warmth, and for the first time in several days, Peter falls asleep, tears in his throat and on his skin, fallen in tracks down the sides of his temples and gathered in his hair.

His breath comes slowly, warm against the pillow. His dreams are of a blank landscape, a pleasant canvas of an altered reality. For a moment, thought of the pills and his lie are forgotten. This is where he is and where he remains.

It's near three in the morning when Peter gets the call. His phone buzzes against his hip, and he has to maneuver a bit to pull it out from under him. He's half asleep as he answers, and doesn't bother to look at the screen.

"Hello," he asks as he runs his face.

"Peter?"

The boy freezes. It's a voice he recognizes- the same one he's listened to repeatedly in voicemails, home videos, press conferences. A voice he knows, perhaps, better than his own. The skin on his neck prickles and he is now very aware, vibrantly awake.

"Who is this?" He asks, because he has to be sure.

"What, I'm gone for a few months, and you don't know my voice? C'mon kid, its freezing out here. Can you let me in?"

Tears well in Peter's eyes, and his grip on the cellphone gets tighter. 

"Who is this?" He asks again, clenching his jaw. 

"It's me, kid. It's Tony."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> WHAT DID YOU THINK? I hope yall like it haha.


End file.
